


Something long overdue

by venomoussocks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, How Do I Tag, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, excessive use of commas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomoussocks/pseuds/venomoussocks
Summary: ''𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘱𝘴𝘦—𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘈𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘊𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴.''ORCrowley is a wreck who fails at both using chopsticks and hiding his feelings.Constructive criticism is always welcome and greatly appreciated! <3I'm not very good at titles huh





	Something long overdue

Chopsticks are popular Asian eating utensils, invented roughly 4,000-5,000 years ago in China. There are very specific rules to using them properly; The lower chopstick is rests at the base of the thumb, between the ring finger and middle finger. The second chopstick is held like a pencil, and it is moved while eating, to pull food into the grasp of the chopsticks.

Crowley proceeded to plunge his straight through yet another unsuspecting tekkamaki roll, effectively making it completely fall apart on this plate. The demon frowned down at the offensive piece of food, vaguely aware of Aziraphale's disappointed gaze from across the table. The scattered rice somehow managed to stare miserably back.

It was a couple weeks after the Armageddon't, the Apocawasn't, the Nopocalypse—Whatever you like to call it. The Earth lived on and things remained the same. That was good. That was great.

Except it wasn't. Not for Anthony Crowley, who had expected some things to change now that they were free from Heaven and Hell. There was nothing holding them back from whatever it was that they'd been awkwardly trying to do these past few decades.

After their respective trials, the pair had dined at the Ritz, their path leading to Aziraphale's bookshop afterwards. It was not like Crowley had expected much to happen, but with all the unsaid things that had hung heavy and clear in the air, he had expected something.

He had practically felt how badly the angel had itched to bring certain things up. Crowley had waited patiently, as he always did, but the words just never seemed to leave the other man's mouth. The evening had ended anticlimactically, with them bidding each other goodnight with the promise to see each other again soon. Crowley had driven home in silence, not quite allowing himself to be frustrated, and decided to let it be.

Judging by the several annihilated sushi rolls on the fancily decorated porcelain plate in front of the demon, he had now changed his mind.

''Crowley?'' Aziraphale's voice pushed through the messy flood of the redhead's thoughts. He was holding a fork out towards his companion and Crowley's last few remaining brain cells had to work extraordinarily hard before he realized that the angel was offering it to him. He took it.

''Really, dear boy, you know that is considered quite rude,'' scolded Aziraphale, for his own sanity pretending not to notice Crowley further abusing his chopsticks by using them to scoop some beans onto the newly acquired fork. They fell off anyway. Defeated, Crowley placed all of his utensils down.

The two had been going out to eat together more often now, but the demon knew they weren't considered as dates. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Aziraphale, sushi just wouldn't fulfill his emotional needs. He didn't even like seafood and was now starting to have serious regrets about accepting this particular dinner offer.

''Are you alright?''

Crowley looked up from his mess of a plate, scrunching his nose up when the swift movement threatened to make his sunglasses fall from his face. The action did nothing to help, so he proceeded to push them back up with his fingers, smudging the lens in the process. He pretended not to notice.

''Yeah, 'course,'' replied the demon, leaning back in his chair, ''Sushi's just not really my thing.''

Aziraphale stared at him from across the table, brows knit together, holding his chopsticks so correctly and delicately that it almost annoyed Crowley.

''Right, I should've guessed,'' said the angel, offering his companion a polite smile, ''We could go back to the bookshop after this. I've got a rather fine bottle of Gaja Barbaresco that I think you'll enjoy more.''

As usual, Crowley agreed. He watched while the blond ate the rest of his meal while rambling on about some rare books he had managed to find and how some pesky human had had the audacity to attempt to buy them. They seemed to do so quite often. Weird thing, that.

Later in the bookshop the pair proceeded to get absolutely hammered, Crowley lounging on the sofa as usual and Aziraphale sitting across him on the armchair, his posture unnaturally mannerly for a person with half a bottle's worth of alcohol in their system. This all belonged to their usual routine, but this time Crowley couldn't quite get himself to enjoy the warm buzz of the alcohol warming his insides. Aziraphale was happily rambling on about something yet again, but the demon had stopped listening after the first minute, lost in his own thoughts.

Perhaps this should be enough for him. Perhaps he should accept that this is the furthest they'd ever get and be happy with that. They were friends—That should be enough for him.

But watching the angel's face light up as he continued his story, Crowley couldn't imagine that being enough for him anymore. Aziraphale moved his hands when he talked, occasionally letting out a delightful giggle at a particularly funny part of the story that Crowley was (rather rudely) ignoring completely. His mind was moving a hundred miles an hour and he was quite frankly starting to feel sick.

''Right, um,'' he muttered when Aziraphale's rambling had quieted down enough to consider his story finished, ''It's getting late. I should be going.'' For good measure, he slapped his thighs like a middle-aged dad before getting up and immediately cringed at himself.

''Oh, I suppose so.'' The other man looked somewhat disappointed, but Crowley knew that if he stayed any longer he'd do or say something very, very stupid. The angel shuddered slightly as he miracled the alcohol out of his bloodstream, the redhead following suit, although more reluctantly.

Aziraphale followed him to the door, but as expected, that's all that happened. He wasn't begging him to stay, didn't grab his hand to make him turn back, didn't stop him to tell him the things Crowley desperately wished to hear. They just continued their routine, their torturous, everlasting dance.

''Do mind how you go. It seems to be raining quite heavily,'' was all Aziraphale had to offer. Something in Crowley's chest ached.

''I'll be fine,'' he assured, ''Goodnight, angel.''

He stepped out of the shop and into the pouring rain. Blessing under his breath, he ran to the car he had (illegally) parked just across the street. Not bothering to look for his keys, he opened the door with a snap of his fingers and climbed in, taking his wet sunglasses off his face with a scowl.

He didn't start the car.

The demon simply sat in his seat, drenched and frustrated and feeling too much. Emotions, he decided, were one of Her stupidest additions to Her creatures. He hated them, he hated this.

He hated having to wait for the angel to make a move. So far, it seemed like he was never going to. Crowley briefly wondered if he even had a move to make. Maybe he really didn't feel anything more towards the demon and was happy with what they had, and therefore Crowley should be too.

But Crowley was a demon, and demons were supposed to be selfish. So he allowed himself to be selfish for once. He wanted more. Even if his stupid feelings weren't returned, it would've been common decency of the angel to at least address the situation and make his intentions clear. Crowley didn't know what Aziraphale wanted, and he hated not knowing.

Surprisingly, even the Bentley's radio saw it best to stay silent, leaving the demon alone with only the heavy patter of the rain accompanying his thoughts. Angrily, he wiped his wet forehead and leaned against the steering wheel, grumbling to himself.

In a moment of fleeting bravery, he popped open the door and climbed back out into the rain, effectively re-soaking the clothes that had already begun to dry. He was _sick_ of the dance the two had been doing for longer than he could remember.

He was back at the bookshop's door in mere seconds, hesitating just a moment before pounding his fist against it a little harder than was necessary. His hair was already glued to his forehead, raindrops falling off the strands and running along his face. The wet clothes felt heavy on his trembling frame.

Annoyed muttering could be heard from the inside and Aziraphale took his time walking to the door. Just as Crowley began to consider running away, there was a creak and he was face to face with a confused looking angel.

''Crowley? Did you forget somet—''

''You are a dunce,'' was not what Crowley had intended to start with, but despite his brain's furious backpedaling, his mouth just kept on moving. ''A real bonehead. A plonker.''

If possible, Aziraphale's expression grew even more confused, his eyebrows furrowing.

''My dear boy, what—''

''A nincompoop,'' tried Crowley, helplessly.

A frown joined the puzzled look on the angel's face as he watched the redhead hopelessly rummage around his brain for more synonyms.

''I don't quite understand what I've done to deserve such treatment,'' he scoffed, ''but if you came back just to insult me, you may as well leave.''

Panicked, Crowley sputtered something incoherent and shook his head. He let himself lean his arm on the wall beside the door.

''No, no, I'm sorry,'' the demon stammered, ''Let me talk, please.''

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously, but to Crowley's surprise, didn't slam the door in his face. The demon's heart was pounding out of his chest but he figured turning back now would do more harm than good. It was time to get through with this.

''We couldn't, before,'' he started clumsily, still not having planned what he was going to say, ''Be together, I mean. Properly.''

He realized he had forgotten his glasses and suddenly felt more vulnerable than ever. He shifted his yellow gaze to his soaked snakeskin boots.

''With Heaven and Hell watching, you know,'' he waved his hand as if nonchalantly, ''But it's different now. So...Why aren't we? Why is nothing different with,'' he gestured helplessly between the two, ''us?''

''Different?'' echoed Aziraphale, voice laced with concern now.

''What do you feel for me, Aziraphale?''

It was quiet for far longer than Crowley would've liked. The only sound was the heavy rain hitting the pavement and his own rapid heartbeat as it threatened to bust right through his ribcage. He grit his teeth, eyes stinging, and stepped back. This was a bad idea.

''Sorry. Forget it,'' he choked out and turned to leave before a firm grasp on his wet jacket sleeve stopped him in his tracks. The demon's breath caught in his throat. Hesitantly, he turned to face the angel, who was now under the rain himself, desperately clutching the soaked piece of fabric. Crowley stared, unblinking.

''Don't go,'' pleaded Aziraphale, so quietly that it could barely be heard over the rain. And Crowley listened— He was frozen in place, letting the water soak both of them from head to toe.

''I'm sorry,'' Aziraphale whispered after what felt like forever, ''I really have been stupid.''

Normally, Crowley would rush to assure the angel that he was the smartest being he knew, but now the situation wasn't quite right for that. So instead he only waited for the other to speak, swallowing heavily.

Aziraphale didn't seem to be any better at finding words than Crowley. He kept his hold on the other's arm and his gaze on the pavement, struggling to figure out what to say.

''I never meant any of what I said,'' he finally got out, ''At the bandstand, I mean. I know I hurt you, back then. I've been terribly cruel to you.''

''S'okay,'' Crowley muttered softly.

''It's not. I said so many things I shouldn't have, so many things I did not mean. I was just...So scared.''

Crowley hadn't expected the angel to bring up that. He had tried to forget about the whole thing. Now, admitting his mistakes, Aziraphale looked utterly miserable in front of him, drenched and vulnerable and so, so small. The redhead tentatively placed his hand on the one still clinging to his sleeve. Aziraphale looked up.

''It's...I understand. I did too,'' Crowley replied, hesitating for a moment, ''And for a while I was convinced that those were my last words to you.''

Aziraphale blinked up at him, loosening his hold on the wet fabric but taking Crowley's hand instead, urging him to face him properly.

''I thought that you had died, angel. That you were gone for good.''

Crowley was pulled into a gentle embrace. Aziraphale clutched him tightly, making the demon's brain freeze like Windows Vista as he carefully returned the wet hug.

''I truly am sorry.'' The angel's voice wavered, threatening to make Crowley choke up too. He was glad his face was hidden now, although he couldn't quite hide the way his body trembled, shoulders tense and arms wrapping around the other man just a bit tighter.

''I've been scared,'' Aziraphale continued, ''and even now, when I have no reason to be, I'm still scared. I'm sorry I didn't notice how much that was hurting you, my dear.''

Crowley swallowed down a very undemonic sob.

''I've loved you for millenia,'' he choked out against the angel's shoulder, letting his burning tears fall freely now. It was surprisingly easy to say, mostly because it was nothing but the truth. He didn't despise the word, and this point it would've been stupid not to say it. Against all odds, he loved him. He loved his laugh, he loved his smile, he loved how kind he was and how he still managed to be a bastard if he wanted to. Hell, he even loved his stupid magic tricks. He loved him so much it hurt and it felt so good to finally admit out loud.

Aziraphale squeezed him tighter before pulling back just enough to look the other in the eyes. The familiar, slitted eyes were uncharacteristically brimming with tears and he reached to wipe the wetness off his cheek, touch tender and warm and _oh_, how it made Crowley feel overwhelmed.

''It took me such a long time to admit it to myself,'' Aziraphale whispered, drawing this all out for far longer than Crowley was comfortable with, ''I didn't want to believe it. It was dangerous and unexpected and it scared me.''

Crowley met his gaze only to find the grayish blue eyes glistening with unshed tears as well. He had to swallow heavily to keep his shit together and not break down completely.

''But it was thrilling, too,'' Aziraphale smiled, ''We never quite fit in, did we? You were different. You always have been. You're unique, cunning, brilliant and clever and—''

''Oh for fuck's sake, spit it out already.''

Aziraphale snorted, breaking out into a bright smile as he looked Crowley with so much meaning that the demon was sure he'd faint on the spot. Aziraphale lifted both of his hands to cradle Crowley's face. The hands were uncomfortably wet and cold but at that moment, Crowley had never felt warmer.

''Anthony J. Crowley, I am madly in love with you.''

It was a miracle that Crowley's legs didn't give out under him. Despite his best efforts, he let out a sob, then another and then he was crying freely, heavy sobs wracking his whole body. Aziraphale pushed strands of wet red hair off his face, searching his eyes with an expression he couldn't quite read.

''I swear to G—I swear to _someone_,'' hiccupped Crowley, ''If you only mean that in the 'God's love' sense, I—''

Aziraphale silenced him by pressing his lips against Crowley's.

The demon stopped breathing as he felt his whole world turn upside down. This was everything he'd ever wanted and more. The feeling of Aziraphale's gentle press against his chapped lips was better than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine and he couldn't keep in the muffled sob as he grabbed Aziraphale by his soaked coat and pulled him closer, desperate and overwhelmed and indescribably _happy._

''I love you,'' he gasped when he pulled back just enough to breathe, stealing another kiss immediately afterwards as though he couldn't stand to be apart from the angel, ''I love you.''

He could feel Aziraphale smiling against his lips and nothing else mattered in the world anymore. He could stand in the freezing rain for hours if he could keep holding the angel against him like this. If this was a dream, he hoped he'd never wake up.

''I love you too,'' Aziraphale assured and it felt so good to hear him say it out loud. Crowley whined, capturing his lips again. He was cold and wet and his shoes were probably ruined from the rain but he felt so warm and happy that he couldn't possibly bring himself to care. Aziraphale smelled like Earl Grey tea and old books and fresh rainwater and everything Crowley knew to be warm and safe and familiar.

''I'm sorry it took me so long to catch up.'' The angel smiled sheepishly when they parted, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breaths. Crowley shook his head.

''T'was worth it.'' He brushed his thumb over Aziraphale's soft cheek, still not quite believing this was all real. ''I'd wait for you forever if you needed me to.''

Aziraphale gave him a gentle smile and reached up to place his hand on the one pressed against his cheek, pressing a kiss against Crowley's cold palm.

''Shall we go back inside? You're completely soaked, my dear,'' he said, as if he himself didn't look like he had just had a bucket of water dumped on his head. Crowley smiled and pressed one last kiss to the angel's lips before taking his hand and turning back to the door that had carelessly been left open. They got out of the rain, back into the warmth of the bookshop.

Crowley had half a mind to miracle both of their clothes dry before reaching for Aziraphale again, pulling him close and just barely grazing their lips together, not sure if he wanted to speak or keep kissing the angel. He still had so much to say. Aziraphale made the decision for him.

''I still can't believe you used the word _nincompoop_.''

Crowley shut him up with a fervent kiss.


End file.
